Dennis Creevey and the SemiLegal Movie Theater
by Veil Burner 3o4
Summary: When Dennis Creevey comes home after the events of HBP, his father gives him an ultimatum Hogwarts or the streets. Now, the fourthyear must execute a master plan of daring and semilegality to keep the school going.


The room was in shambles. As far as he knew, ever since Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad had had their way with it, nobody had stepped into this _particular_ version of the Room of Requirement for over a year. The fire had gone out and the window was doing a proper job of letting the miserable draft in. "Wait," thought Dennis Creevey, fourth year student, "since when did this room have a fireplace or a window? " Upon further inspection, Dennis unearthed an even more bizarre find. Having walked around the room (and when did it become so long?) he stepped behind the last bookcase (there weren't nearly this many year-before-last. Has Granger been here?) and found…

"…53 cabinets. I found 53 bloody cabinets, and they _attacked_ me. That's the last time I take Peeves' advice." Dennis was standing in front of Professor Binns, Hogwarts' History of Magic teacher. The ghost's face was impenetrable. It had been that way ever since September 1st, 1997, when Dennis Creevey had told him of his idea. Creevey was the only student Binns had actually known since his death, for the two had, after certain events involving one Moaning Myrtle and a love letter written in a Howler, formed a close bond. However, the out-of-touch ghost was not currently in the mood for his usual small-drone. Maybe it was because his favorite student had known about a secret room in the castle and had never told him about it. Not that he'd cared about the room. Secret rooms didn't exist. Why, if he started believing in secret rooms, he'd end up thinking the Chamber of Secrets was actually real. Poppycock. Maybe he was irritated by the fact that this student was planning on exploiting both said room and a very important magical object… No, the exploitation wasn't too important, either. After all, there had been quite a lot of it done by Professor Dum – Dubel – Dunbel – whatever his name was – before his unfortunate death by – uh – never mind… Ah, yes. It was the fact that Creevey had forgotten everything the professor had ever told him about the Goblin-Made Cabinet Rebellion of 1775 (the true origin of the phrase "out of the closet"). That he could not forgive.

"First of all, those weren't ordinary "bloody" cabinets, Creevey. If they did indeed attack you -"

"- You bet they did, I've still got the scar on my-"

"- then you have encountered our school's collection of Goblin-made Whomping Cabinets, made from the wood of a Whomping Willow. I'll have you know that Ogg, Hagprop's predecessor, retired immediately upon wrestling them into submission, depositing them at the school gates via cannon, and costing the Bloody Baron his life.

Dennis, having heard of Ogg from his brother, Colin, who had in turn heard the name while stalking one Harry Potter (a hobby of his), would have been rather interested in this story at any other time. At the moment, however, he brushed off his transparent mentor's lesson as one would brush off some stray toad liver and reverted to whispering. He had learned in his muggle primary school the trick of not being noticed – being quiet. This is why he did not get bullied as much as Colin did. On the other hand, he had also learned the counter-trick of making people listen.

It had been an unusually mild-weathered day. His math class had been entombed in the schoolhouse for half an hour, when young Dennis had decided that on the whole, he would much rather be outside. He had also decided that this would be an appropriate time to utter a profanity. He did so. Quietly. Regardless, the person next to him, a chatter-head name Suzie Longrot, suddenly went quiet. Then the person next to her. Then the next. The ripple effect would have been awe-inspiring if not for the fact that the teacher, one Mrs. Chetter, was paying attention. In her mind, Mrs. Chetter graphed the diameter of her students' suddenly wide eyes in the order of closest to Creevey – farthest from Creevey, found the slope, matched it to the level of word – severity recorded in a mental chart she had been developing for the entirety of her teaching career, somehow got young Creevey expelled and went on to join the ranks of Yassir Arafat and win the Nobel Peace Prize. Ever since Creevey got accepted at Hogwarts, (he received his letter the day he got expelled) he exploited his new-found knowledge of psychology to great effect.

"Professor," he whispered, immediately gaining the ghost's attention, "I don't care what those bloody cabinets are called. They could be made of pure ivory and I wouldn't care. The point is whomping chairs just won't work. I thought the Room might have gone haywire since last summer, but I didn't know how haywire. It's supposed to grant the wishes of the user, not a homicidal poltergeist." He sighed, "I mean it's not as if we can expect those schmucks to sit for three hours and ignore the blood projectile-gushing from their heads." He rubbed his backside pointedly.

"Anybody participating in your plan would deserve it." the professor responded. "First, for abusing the memorpreservitum -"

"- Just call it a Pensieve, Professor -"

"- No. First, for abusing the _memorpreservitum_. Second, for watching Muggle filth -"

"- _Films_ -"

"- _Filth_. Third, for dealing with someone so irresponsible that they took the advice of a _poltergeist_. I'd always thought that you were a sensible young man, Creevey, but now I'm having second thoughts…"

"Really," thought Dennis, "that last bit about Peeves was a little harsh. I mean, sure, he _did_ try to kill me in the most humiliating way known to 'geist kind, but if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have this great idea."

This was, essentially speaking, true. After all, if Peeves hadn't stolen the Gryffindor team's stash of magically-enhanced "Woody's Broomstick Adventures" tapes, (which, according to Harry-via-Colin, had grown disturbingly popular since summer '94) Dennis would never have found out that it was possible to play tapes inside Hogwarts. Admittedly, he would also never have found out the exact parameters of the Quidditch captain's anatomy, but he figured that his new idea would pay more than enough for the therapy sessions Granger had decided to hold since.

Of course, the tapes were only a small part of the plan. What he really needed was a classy looking room, a pensieve, massive amounts of publicity, and a hell of a lot of wood. Furthermore, the wood would have to be real– Dennis had learned, from trying to relieve himself in a conjured toilet, that conjuring things into existence was never a good idea. (Oh, it worked well enough for Dumbledore, but he was far more powerful. Now, he was dead, and short of asking the Minister of Taxation for help, Dennis had no way of bringing the old Headmaster back to life.) In any case, the reason for this seemingly ridiculous collection of requirements was actually quite simple – Dennis Creevey was going to build the school a semi-legal movie theater.

"The process is as simple as the idea, Professor," enunciated Dennis. He was in Professor McGonagall's office, and he almost gleamed with inspiration. "All I have to do is go to a muggle movie theater, watch a decent film, put the memory into a pensieve, and get as much of the local magical population as possible to pay good galleons for quality entertainment. It will be all over town! We'll conquer Hogsmeade – no! England! The entire British Isles! The world will be our tea cozy! They'll have, "Hogwarts' Moving Picture Show" on every wall, from New York to Pakistan! We'll -"

"That's quite enough of that, Mr. Creevey." Minerva McGonagall, newly appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts, was sitting at her desk. Ever since Creevey had found her inside Moaning Myrtle's "Café-O-Tears," nursing a vodka bottle and sobbing uncontrollably, she could not get rid of the boy tailing her. She decided that it was high time to give him an appointment, and he had come five minutes early. "I have heard quite enough of your plan from Professor Binns. While I hardly believe that you can possibly succeed -"

"- But I can, look -"

"- I have little more to lose. The school is bankrupt, we've lost any and all respect, and the late _Professor_ Dumbledore's portrait" (she put particular emphasis on the word 'Professor') "has convinced all of our painted residents to go on strike until the house-elves draw raspberry jam into the cafeteria fresco. Most of them don't even like raspberry jam, but there's Dumbledore for you. Mind you, I like raspberry jam as much as the next Head, but you've got to draw the line somewhere." (She shuddered at the memory of last Friday's portrait orgy.) "Dumbledore had always said – when he was alive, that is – that if ever there came a time when the school had to be closed, we should auction off its paintings and start a new school with the money we make. Fat chance, now." She went silent for a moment. "So, where were we? Ah, yes, transport. You asked for the Hogwarts Express? Well, you can have it. Frank hasn't had anything to do since September 1st, what with no students expelled. I rather suspect he'll go insane by the end of the year, but that's life. As for the pensieve…well, Professor Dumbledore has actually given it to Mr. Potter in his will…"

Dennis gave a theatrical sigh.

"…But the useless boy is nowhere to be found. Apparently, he never got the owl Granger and Weasley _swear_ that they sent him, so he probably doesn't have the slightest idea that they're in Hogwarts. Filthy dropout." McGonagall was particularly bitter about the fact that Harry Potter, the school's last hope for publicity (and money) had abandoned the school at such a critical moment. "As such, he is probably busy walking into another one of the Dark Lord's horribly-laid traps, thinking that his two _best_ friends are in dire peril, and is too busy to collect. In any case, we have at least until next June to save him if we don't hear about some highly-destructive final-type battle by then."

Dennis could hardly believe his luck. Now that he had all required permission secured, he could concentrate on the real problem. The real problem was the seating. While the muggle-provided laugh track could be explained away as part of the movie, the muggle bodies constantly… existing… in the theater's seats would be both distracting and disturbing. Colin had suggested that they forget about the movies and simply snap pornographic photos by bringing the camera through the muggles' clothes, but Dennis felt that no amount of desperation would get McGonagall to stoop that low. So, he opted for building new seats on top of the "real" ones. A staircase here, a ramp there, and voila! The illusion of professionalism. Of course, he'd have to be able to shrink the seats down to pocket-size after each showing (so as to be able to store them in between sojourns into the pensieve), but that entailed a far simpler spell than conjuring. Again, the laugh track could be excused – hell, he could probably make the suckers pay for it! Then, he'd just have to sell the tapes to enthusiastic viewers and he'd be hard pressed to buy a galleon-sign cliché sack big enough to store the all the gold. Creevey could feel the Slytherin side of him purr.

"However, Mr. Creevey" (the fourth year's heart froze) "I believe that I have the right to know something."

"Yes?"

"Why is it that you are going through all this trouble to keep us afloat?" The professor was genuinely curious, and even though he managed to answer this question nonchalantly enough, Dennis could not help thinking about the reasons himself.

When the brothers Creevey had come home last summer, they had found that a curious change had come over their father. Poor Mr. Creevey, Sr. had grown used to his sons' absence, so used to it, in fact, that it took the two teenagers massive amounts of effort to sober the milkman up. Then, instead of gratitude, the old sod had given them an ultimatum – Hogwarts or the streets.

There followed two months of uncomfortable silences, uncomfortable rows, uncomfortably loud and disturbingly dual noises from Creevey, Sr.'s room, and one hope – that Hogwarts had not been closed down.

On September 1st, the brothers had arrived at King's Cross station. Believing that there was no way Hogwarts could have really been closed (that was just… ridiculous… wasn't it?) they assumed that the lack of obviously magical people in or around the station was attributable to higher security. They assumed that the lack of students on the platform or in the compartments was the result of some new privacy spell the boys had not heard of – possibly a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product. They assumed that the lack of life anywhere near the thestral-drawn carriages (which they still though were pulled by invisible horses, bless them) had something to do with a new rule they were unaware of. They assumed that they only saw eleven other students in the Great Hall because there had been scheduling problems. However, when they clearly heard McGonagall say, "Sod it all, just go to bed," without even a hint of a Sorting Ceremony, they assumed that they had just been making complete asses of themselves for the last five hours.

That was when Dennis Creevey realized that he needed to keep the school going.


End file.
